


Lebenslust // Ueberdruss

by More11a



Category: Only Lovers Left Alive (2013)
Genre: Established Relationship, F/M, Immortality, Love, Vampires
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-09-01
Updated: 2017-09-01
Packaged: 2018-12-22 14:10:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,040
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11969028
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/More11a/pseuds/More11a
Summary: They are the Alpha and Omega. Yin and yang. Black and white. Life’s a game, but this is not about chess, it’s about being the King and Queen of Hearts.





	Lebenslust // Ueberdruss

**Author's Note:**

> In case you haven't noticed already, I'm really bad at plots. So guess what... no plot. Just observations. Gotta love these two.

_You and me, everchanging..._

They are... 

They are the Alpha and Omega. Yin and yang. Black and white. Life’s a game, but this is not about chess, it’s about being the King and Queen of Hearts. 

The planet revolves eternally, at least that’s what everyone hopes. Adam knows that eternity can be very short, in moments like this when his whole flawed existence flashes before his eyes. Then again, seconds stretch into decades and every day is just the same, only the slowly crumbling bricks of Detroit are proof that time passes at all.  
Time is a frail, susceptible thing, and it’s the only thing that he has plenty of. 

Adam hasn’t seen the sun in centuries. Eve is his sun, when she sweeps back into his lives with the taste of Morocco still on her tongue, with such fondness for the past and such hunger for the future.  
She's always been a traveller, she loves the zombies' many different cultures, and she loves places where there are many of them – airports and bazaars and all kinds of temples where the zombies worship whatever they are choosing to call their God.  
Sometimes, Adam thinks she looks at them as billions of silly, but loveable little pets. 

“How can you have lived for so long and still not get it?” She still wonders how that is even possible. He is an enigma to her, although the word soulmates seems to have been made for them alone. He’s the only one that’s always been there, and always will be, a fixed point in time and space, even with so much to love, so many lives to live, and yet he is so different from her. 

Words were her first love – or maybe he was. She loves music, too, but her passion for it will never come close to his. He dives in and out of major and minor, of quarters and eighths, and his whole being is humming with the music of the universe. He's the only one she knows who can get into a frenzy over a snapped string, who can drift away in a harmony.

She gets lost in the pages of a book. She drinks in the words, drinks deep, and they warm her from the inside.  
The sun will never shine for her again, but there are still so many things to see, to hear, to feel. Every raindrop holds the universe, every blade of grass wriggling its way up through the asphalt. Every night is an array of wonder, and sometimes wondering about those wonders makes her burst into giggles.  
And when he’s with her, he gives her that grave look that might make her cry for his sake if she wasn’t laughing. Sometimes she feels like her whole being will explode with joy, with the intensity of the sun she still feels after all these centuries. Like it will overflow and drip and spatter everywhere. And he would give her that look and step away daintily from where it burns through the carpet. 

He is a book she has read so many times that she can hardly remember where the story ends and her own begins.  
The world is crumbling, she knows that. Everyone says so. And when she looks at the state of the planet, she almost believes it. This time for real. Then again, she has seen so many awful things. So many plagues and catastrophes and so much hate. Somehow, life always went on, and the rain still falls, and the grass still grows. 

He doesn’t see what she sees. He is certain that it is the end this time, that things have been overdone, the world is tilting on its axis towards the abyss, only waiting for a last tiny shove, the wings of a butterfly. Not that he would care much, in general, if the future didn’t come. 

It's our past that makes us who we are, not our future. It’s why Adam collects the pictures, people he’s known, people he’s _been_. 

They are entwined particles. Atoms, molecules, hearts and souls.  
She would do everything for that smile that curls his lips, rare and bright like a meteor. She tried to cure his age-old weariness, but to no avail. It’s not that she has given up, it’s more like she needed to understand that he can't be changed. Sometimes, she even thinks she would love to see the predatory glow in his eyes again, the unearthly light of true hunger, see him snap off his black rock star gloves and bare his teeth and…  
But they can’t do those things, not in this day and age, it’s unseemly, they just _don’t_. Anyway, it was just one tiny part of the mosaic that is him, just one aspect that she loved out of myriads, and maybe it’s not the worst to have lost it. The zombies, as he calls them, wouldn’t understand. They are quick to be cruel, quick to kill each other, but they have never felt true hunger. 

Maybe they have never felt _alive_ either. Maybe she ought to feel sorry for them. 

She feels as alive in the neon lights and the masses of people as she does in the secretive crooked alleyways and the soft glow of Tangier’s lanterns at night.  
He hasn’t felt alive in a long time, but when he looks at her radiant face, the feeling comes pretty close.  
She’s made a home in many places, in the sights and smells of this everchanging world. There is a fascination in every time and age, in every place she’s been to. She remembers running wild in the fields and forests, before they got covered in concrete, and wonders how he can live in a place like Detroit, but maybe his home isn’t in places, it’s in her. 

She can feel the soil beneath the asphalt and twisted metal of this city, a young city with almost no human history compared to the sights she's seen - middle-ages Paris, Victorian London, Venice. Places almost as old as herself. “Age is just a number”, as a zombie saying goes, but that's not true. 

More than anything, they've always been in love. 

They have been. They are. They will be.


End file.
